Flora and Friedrich, because of their enthusiasm for their own work, seemed to have lost sight of each other.
In Hannah’s mind appeared an image of two floating logs, drifting side by side in a swift current—that was how she saw Friedrich and Flora in that moment. With no log driver to make sure they did not drift too far apart . . .
Chapter Forty-Three
“If Candlemas be fair and bright, winter has another flight. If Candlemas brings snow and rain, winter will not come again.” Flora turned around to her mother. “Isn’t that how the old rhyme goes?”
It was February 2, and although it had been snowing since the evening before, Flora and Hannah had paid Kuno’s grave a visit that morning, the anniversary of his death, and were on their way back to the shop. They had left an arrangement of fir sprigs for him. Ernestine wanted to wait until Friedrich was free in the afternoon before going out herself, hoping the weather would improve.
“Let’s hope that old rhyme holds—you wouldn’t wish this weather on a dog. I’ll tell you this much: if Sabine hasn’t got the fire going in the stove in the shop, I’m going straight back to the house. I can stand and watch you decorate a window display another time,” said Hannah grumpily.
Flora laughed. “I never knew you to be so lily-livered, Mama. Whoops, I almost fell!” She latched on to her mother and held tight. It was certainly for the best that she had left Alexander with Sabine. The thought of slipping on the ice and falling with her Alexander, her one-and-only, in her arms . . .
In the iron stove in the shop, however, a crackling fire welcomed them. Sabine, who had looked after the shop and Alexander well, disappeared to the kitchen to make tea.
“The windows are completely fogged up again,” said Flora. Still wearing her coat, she wiped briskly at the glass to clear it.
“Why go to the trouble? No one’s going to be out on a day like today to look at your decorations anyway,” said Hannah. “Maybe it would be better to shovel the snow off the footpath. If you’ve got a snow shovel here, I could—”
“Forget it. You sit in here with Alexander, and when Sabine comes back with the tea, you can make yourself as comfortable as you like,” Flora said, interrupting her mother. As far as she was concerned, her mother already did far too much. In the end, they’d say that Flora would never have been able to stay on top of things by herself! Now that Hannah had visited all Baden-Baden’s gardeners and her order book was full, she could focus on spending time with her grandson, nothing else.
Hannah sighed. “You really won’t let anyone help you, child. Friedrich was right. You—”
Flora cut her off with a kiss to the cheek. “It is so lovely to have you here! If it were up to me, you could stay forever.”
“Well, I think your father would have something to say about—” Hannah broke off when a shrill cry sounded just outside the shop door. Flora dropped the rag she was using on the window and ran out.
“That certainly could have been worse! Take my arm . . . and if I may be so bold, dear lady, you are as light as a feather.”
Flora watched in disbelief as Konstantin Sokerov brushed snow from Gretel Grün’s rear. For a moment, she thought he was some illusion caused by the driving snow, but it really was him.
His hair was longer than it had been in autumn, and he was tan. He wore a black fur coat, the likes of which Flora had never seen before. It was probably the fashion abroad right now. And he looked good in it. Dashing, somehow.
Konstantin was back! And she had feared that she would never see him again.
What was he doing here in the middle of winter?
Still speechless with shock and joy, Flora finally held the door open for them.
Before the pharmacist’s wife could launch into a tirade about the uncleared snow on the pavement, Konstantin picked up one of the potted violets. “Allow me, as your rescuer, to give you this?” He gave Gretel a conspiratorial wink. “I know that a stout-hearted woman such as yourself has earned some splendid roses, but . . .”
Flora watched with admiration as Konstantin chatted amicably and placatingly with Gretel until a hint of a smile appeared on her face. A short time later, she left the store with a flush in her cheeks and the potted violet in her hand.
Flora turned to Konstantin and shook his hand vigorously. “Thank you! Now you’ve rescued me again. If not for you, Gretel would have bitten my head off.”
“I fear the lady’s rear end will be about the same color as that violet by tomorrow,” said Konstantin drily.
Flora laughed. In the same moment, she sensed her mother’s eyes on her. She had completely forgotten Hannah was right there!
“Wouldn’t you like to go into the kitchen with Alexander? It’s sure to be warmer in there,” said Flora, although the stove was almost glowing.
“No, thank you. We’re quite comfortable where we are,” said Hannah, leaning back in her chair with the infant in her arms. “I’m Flora’s mother, by the way,” she said to Konstantin. “And this is her son, Alexander.”
“Charmed,” said Konstantin. He flashed a smile and looked from Hannah to Flora and back as if comparing them.
“This is Konstantin Sokerov, the painter,” said Flora. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned him,” she added.
“Not that I recall,” said Hannah, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, yes! You saved our Flora from that beastly man. Thank you,” she said, although she did not sound particularly grateful.
“Don’t get up,” Konstantin said. He turned to Flora. “No need to wake your beautiful boy.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll just sit here by the stove,” said Hannah, wrapping her shawl closer around Alexander.
Flora shrugged, then turned back to Konstantin. “Can I help you? Would you like to buy flowers? And what brings you back to Baden-Baden in the middle of winter? When I saw you, I was . . . I was completely . . . speechless, and—” Flora broke off, abashed. She felt a strange prickling sensation in her belly.
How long had Konstantin been back in town? Had he perhaps come straight here to her?
Konstantin began to talk. “Once the casino closed, we followed the croupiers, so to speak. The climate of Monte Carlo was exceptionally good for Princess Stropolski’s constitution last year. But this year . . . well, she was already rather weak before we left Baden-Baden, and then—” Konstantin bit on his bottom lip. “Do you remember Püppi’s little dog?”
“Isa?” Flora gave her mother a quick sideways glance. Hannah sipped with exaggerated indifference at her cup of tea. Konstantin’s story seemed not to interest her at all. So why doesn’t she go into the house? Flora wondered in annoyance.
Konstantin was back! Would she see him often now? The idea made her heart beat faster.
“Isa, yes. The poor little beast was run over by a carriage on the very last day of the year. Püppi was inconsolable. I wanted to get her a new dog immediately, but she rejected the idea out of hand. She did not want to spend another day in Monte Carlo, but to travel back to the place where she had been so happy with Isa.”
Flora frowned. So much fuss about a dog?
“She could not possibly travel alone, of course, so I came with her. But to be honest, I have no idea what we’re supposed to do in Baden-Baden so early in the year.” He raised his hands in a tragicomic gesture. “Püppi wants to take a course of baths. Is that even possible outside the season?”
“Oh, certainly. The healing waters here are sure to do the princess good,” Flora replied hastily. “My husband always recommends the baths at the Hotel Marie-Eluise. I’ve never been there myself, but the woman who runs the place is said to be very careful and her place especially clean and tidy.”
Konstantin nodded. “And what else is going on in Europe’s summer capital in winter?” he asked, rubbing his arms as if he were chilled to the bone.
“Oh, there’s quite a bit going on,” Flora said, and she thought quickly about what Konstantin might find interesting. “The Hotel Stéphanie les Bains has been sold, and
the new owner has plans for some magnificent renovations, I’ve heard. He believes quite firmly that enough people will come for the spas even without the casino. I’m a little skeptical myself,” she said with a shrug.
“So the Stéphanie’s been sold? Irina will be happy to hear that, I’m sure—no more cheap doss-house for her,” Konstantin murmured as he glanced over the flowers on display.
Oh no. He must have seen flowers a thousand times more beautiful than what I can offer. Flora hurriedly drew several decorative panels—designs composed from dried flowers, stems, and seedpods—from beneath the counter and handed them to Konstantin. “In case you’re looking for a gift for the princess, I have something brand-new. Here—my flower pictures.” For a moment, their fingertips touched, and Flora flinched as if she’d laid her hand on a hotplate. What was going on with her? Why was she so animated? And why didn’t Hannah just get up and leave? Sitting there like that with her ears pricked up—it was embarrassing. What must Konstantin think?
But Konstantin’s eyes were on her pictures. Almost reverently, he traced one finger lightly over the dried petals that Flora had arranged on a thin wooden panel, just as he had traced the contour of her pinky, once, in the wine bar, after she had been attacked.
“They’re beautiful. They remind me of my criminal neglect of my own art. Unfortunately, my obligations leave me with no time for that, if you know what I mean.”
Flora nodded vigorously. Of course she understood. It was almost scandalous, the demands the old princess put on his time.
He chose one picture composed from red poppies. “I’d like to buy this one.”
While Flora wrapped the picture, he asked, “So what do people do to pass the time in Baden-Baden now that the casino’s closed?”
“Who says you can’t gamble here anymore?” Flora looked up from her packing paper, and for a moment their eyes met. Then Flora began to tell him about a foggy November day she had spent at the Villa Menshikov.
“On that particular day, they founded the so-called International Club.” Konstantin seemed to find her story fascinating, so Flora continued. “I was really quite dumbfounded to see all the landgraves and princes there to offer their future support to the racetrack in Iffezheim. The newspaper even reported on the gathering. I saved the article. Would you like to see it?”
“I don’t have much time for horse racing,” Konstantin said. “I went to that . . . Iffezheim with Irina once. So many people go there, but it’s no more than your typical farming village. The Duke of Hamilton’s horses won every race, so even the betting was boring.”
“I can imagine what the horse lovers would say to that,” said Flora, and she laughed. “Friedrich says the International Club wants to make sure that jockeys come from lots of different countries, to keep up the standards of the races. He says that even Kaiser Wilhelm is planning to come one day.”
“Perhaps he’ll bring his charming wife with him? And your dream will come true after all.”
“Delivering the flowers for the kaiserin’s birthday.” Flora looked up and sighed. “I’m surprised you remember that.”
Konstantin shrugged. “You remember things that impress you. But tell me, what were you going to say a moment ago, when you . . .” He trailed off, trying to find the right words.
Flora looked at him impishly. “You mean the gambling? Well, while I was decorating the Villa Menshikov with my flowers, I managed to pick up bits and pieces from various conversations.” She lowered her voice. “Betting on horse races seems not to be the only way to try one’s luck. There was talk of a hidden room somewhere.”
Konstantin grinned. “And you remember my passion for taking a chance.”
“There are some things you just don’t forget,” Flora replied, and they laughed together like old friends.
The next moment, Alexander began to wail.
“He ‘followed the croupiers’—did you ever hear anything so affected in your life? Who the devil was that?” Hannah asked as soon as they were alone.
Flora stroked Alexander’s head as he nursed and did not immediately reply. When he had drunk his fill, Flora put her son back in his crib, where he slept peacefully.
“Child, I’m talking to you! Who was that . . . self-important fellow?” Hannah was not far from physically shaking her daughter. The ruddy tinge on Flora’s neck and cheeks was certainly not because of the hot oven! Add to that the blissful smile playing around her mouth, and the way she had laughed at every halfway funny remark the man had made in his broken German! Hannah did not like the look of any of it.
“Konstantin Sokerov is a Bulgarian painter. He was the one who saved me when that tramp attacked me—I know I wrote to you about that. He’s also Princess Nadeshda Stropolski’s companion. Everyone just calls her Püppi, though she’s as old as the hills. You heard what he said: without him, she could no longer travel at all. It’s really quite touching, the way he takes care of her. She was my first customer last year. I wrote to you about that, too, didn’t I?” Flora’s words came as breathlessly as if she’d just run up the steps to the market square.
Hannah waved off her daughter’s explanations. Yes, yes, of course.
Flora looked at her triumphantly. “Hundreds of my lilies of the valley went into decorating the exhibition of his pictures. Later, he confided to me that he found the entire exhibition terribly embarrassing. He is not so far along with his painting that he feels ready to exhibit. He’s just very modest.”
“A customer, I see. Or rather, the companion of a customer—and yet you seem to be on quite familiar terms with him.”
“I maintain a friendly relationship with all of my customers. Do you think I would have gotten as far as I have if I did not? Really, Mother, I don’t know what you want to hear!” Her hands planted combatively on her hips, Flora stood and glared at her mother.
“All right, all right,” said Hannah defensively. “What did the woman from the pharmacy want just now?”
“No idea!” Flora replied. “But maybe I’d better clear the snow before someone else falls on their rear.”
Mother and daughter both laughed, but the laughter sounded strangely forced.
With the flower picture tucked under his arm, Konstantin stepped out of the shop.
How happy Flora had been to see him again, and she had been positively breathless when she told him all the news about Baden-Baden. She was a sweet thing, despite her dirty apron, despite her hair curling and tangled from the snow, despite her hands, with grime in the cracks in her skin. She was so full of enthusiasm for everything she did and said. Wasn’t that what had caught his eye the year before, when he had taken her to the wine bar after she’d been attacked by that horrible tramp? He thought her appealing then, but now, without her pregnant belly, she was even more so.
The most beautiful flowers bloom in secret—Konstantin could not have said why that particular saying occurred to him just then.
Maybe it had not been such a bad idea after all to return to Baden-Baden.
Chapter Forty-Four
“A sleigh ride! How wonderful!” Püppi leaned against Konstantin beneath the heavy blanket. Her arms embraced his neck; her lips moved closer for a kiss . . .
Konstantin quickly leaned forward to the basket with the champagne and glasses.
“I’m glad I was able to surprise you.” He opened a bottle with a loud pop, the cork flying over the side of the sleigh into the snow. One of the horses let out a nervous whinny and the other pranced a little. The driver spoke to them in a calming voice. It was rare for the horses to be fetched from the stables on a snowed-in February morning and harnessed to the sleigh, and the animals were skittish.
As the sleigh began to move, Konstantin poured the champagne. The bubbly liquid glittered in the sunlight and looked clear and pure. A sudden, unbounded joy gripped Konstantin and he let out a whoop.
“Let’s drink!” He held out a glass of champagne for Püppi.
Püppi shook her head regretfully. “My
stomach. The last thing it needs is more bubbles. You know I had such terrible wind yesterday.”
Without another word, Konstantin tipped the contents of her glass over the side of the sleigh, then drained his own glass in a single draft.
“A sleigh ride.” Püppi sighed. “Did I ever tell you about the time Josephina and I . . .”
Konstantin listened with feigned interest to Püppi’s long story from her childhood in the palace at Tsarskoje Selo. God, it all happened more than fifty years ago, but Püppi was talking as if it had been yesterday.
The sleigh turned onto Lichtenthaler Allee. Seeing the long, straight way ahead of them, the horses automatically trotted a little faster.
“Then there was the fire! I remember how the flames swallowed up the house with Josephina still inside, because . . .” The more entangled Püppi became in her story, the more shrill her voice became.
Suddenly, Konstantin could not bear it another minute.
Stop! Shut up! Look around, life is still beautiful! he wanted to scream at her. But instead he leaned forward to the driver and said, “To the Hotel Marie-Eluise.”
Then he turned to Püppi and said, “I fear our little outing has been too much for you, my dear. We’ll go to the Marie-Eluise, where you can take your special bath in peace and quiet.” He patted her bony bird’s-claw hand.
“But why? I don’t want that. The water is always so hot and it makes me dizzy. And there’s never anyone else there. I always lie in one of the tubs all alone.” Püppi’s eyes grew watery. “Couldn’t you at least keep me company for a little while?”
Konstantin ignored her plaintive tone. “The solitude will do you good,” he said, and he sighed with relief when the small hotel came in sight.
“Where to now?” asked the sleigh driver when Konstantin stepped out of the Marie-Eluise.
Back to the Europäischer Hof? Konstantin dismissed the idea. He had been looking forward so much to a little excursion in the cold, crystalline air, to finally getting out of town, seeing and smelling something different. Maybe stopping in somewhere and having a bowl of hot soup instead of the usual five-course meal with the usual handful of faces at the Europäischer Hof.
The Flower Shop (The Seed Traders' Saga Book 2) Page 25